


i set out running, but i take my time

by carrionkid, psychedelia



Series: a friend of the devil is a friend of mine [1]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: (But Depressingly), Alternate Universe - 1960s, Cults, Earth-65, Gen, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 12:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19209658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrionkid/pseuds/carrionkid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychedelia/pseuds/psychedelia
Summary: the year is 1969 and for the first time in elektra natchios' life, her future is not nearly as bright as others would lead her to believe.





	1. elektra

_**MARCH, 1969** _

She does not know what time it is when she wakes, and, quite frankly, it is not a detail that feels all that important to her. What details are presently important are as follows: her hair is slicked against her bare back from a thin layer of sweat coating her entirety; it is as if she does not remember how to breathe; there is an elusive image at the back of her mind, chased away by the suddenness of awakening and now tantalizingly out of reach.

It is an image she is well acquainted with, although she could not put a name nor a face to it. She has not known it for long; it has been a stranger in her life for less than she has known Michael. Well,  _ Matthew _ , she supposes.

_ Matthew  _ had said that Michael was his middle name, one which he occasionally went by whenever it may have struck his fancy, but there is a very distinct likelihood that his statement was a lie. She had only become cognizant of that likelihood after he had  _ left  _ and the betrayal still stings fresh after almost an entire season between the event and now.

She extricates herself from the bed, which was Matthew’s and then it was hers as well as Matthew’s and now it is just hers. The door to the balcony is almost always open, as her, for lack of a better word, roommate is domesticated in only the basest sense of the world. And now she stands in front of it, not daring to step out onto the balcony proper.

She is undressed entirely and it is a state she would not allow herself to be in were it any other person she shared this room with. Matthew, before he had left, was also an exception to that rule.

The early morning wind blows her hair back behind her shoulders, leaving her bared to the world. But the sky is still dark and though it is the first thaw of the season, it is still too soon for anyone to be out tending to the gardens. It is a biting cold, one which serves its purpose: to force her entirely awake and present in the current moment.

Were it another time, perhaps, she would be leaning against the wrought iron railing of the balcony with a lit cigarette between her fingers and thinking about whatever beautiful nameless thing she had spent the evening with. However, that is a life that feels unbearably far behind her.

It is when she is entirely certain that she is awake and aware of the world and is of a sound mind that she decides she will leave as well.

She has been thinking over this course of action for most of the winter season; the idea came to her as soon as everyone realized that the prodigal son would not return. And she is determined to illustrate to dear Matthew that she is more than competent and is, in fact,  _ better  _ than him.

Elektra already knows how to accomplish this. After all, her  _ darling  _ Archangel was in such a hurry to get away from the mess he had created that he completely forgot about his dear little brother.

It is the brother who now sleeps fitfully in the bed adjacent to her own and often cries out for “ _ Matty”  _ in his sleep and seems utterly unaware that he does it come morning. He is simple, and for once Elektra is grateful of that fact. That makes it all the more easy to accomplish what she intends to.

She does not allow her nerve to wane as she dresses herself. It is a quick and efficient process, only expedited by the fact that none of the clothing currently in her possession are articles that have ever belonged to her. She is unsure of what she was wearing the day that she took up residence here, nor does she know where the items of hers have been taken.

After she is reasonably presentable, she kneels down next to the brother’s bed. At times, she knows how to be gentle and this is currently a situation that calls for a touch of finesse. She rests a hand against the brother’s shoulder and jostles him with great care so as not to startle him awake.

His hair is nearly as unmanageable as hers, but she does not get the sense that he assigns any care to the task of maintaining it. It is straw-like, as it always has been, and thin, another appalling constant. It is fanned out across both the bedspread and his person and the only hint that there is a body beneath it comes with the addition of two half-lidded eyes peering between string-like strands.

“Matty?” He does not make it through the single word he is attempting to utter before beginning to rub at his eyes, “Y’didn’t have t’wake me up, you  _ know  _ that.”

“As I have told you  _ ceaselessly, _ ” she does not allow her voice to raise above a mere whisper, “Matthew is not here. Come now, get up.”

She does not have the time nor the patience to walk him through the entire process. Instead, she diverts her attention to collecting what few things she bears any attachment to. In the meantime, the brother sits up on his bed; his legs are crossed at the ankles and he does nothing outside of yawning and stretching.

“What’re you doin’?”

According to Matthew, although she will concede that the validity of the statement may be… suspect, the childish little thing sitting on the bed is somewhere in the realm of twenty-four. He is small and sickly and achingly juvenile, but she is compelled to admit that she does see some echoes of man-hood within him.

“We are going to find Matthew, as he is  _ obviously  _ not returning to us.”

The brother stands up, finally, though he does so in a way that suggests aimlessness, “Like a mission?”

Elektra turns back to her work, which now includes collecting his possessions as well, so as to not let him see the smile stretching across her face. It is a sardonic one, though she does not believe that the man behind her could spell ‘sardonic’, much less define it or identify it in another person’s look.

“Oh  _ yes _ ,” she does not bother disguising the derision her words hold, there is no purpose it serves, “A  _ mission  _ from God.”

Perhaps she is being mean, but she has never cared much one way or another. It is the right thing to say, animosity aside, because the brother moves to her side. He is almost hanging over her, though he has sense enough to realize that she does not often allow people to touch her unless her express machinations are leading them to the act.

“Where are we goin’? How long’s it gonna take?”

“I do not  _ know _ ,” she growls, more a wolf than a woman.

She catches herself immediately after she allows her composure to slip. It is counterintuitive to allow her frustrations with her companion to cause any issues with her plan of action. She knows this to be a legitimate risk; Matthew’s brother stands beside her, tense as if prepared to flee.

“I do not know,” she repeats and does so softer this time, “He could have gone any number of places.”

“ _ Oh _ .”

It is a pathetic, hollow reply and it is underscored by the sense that he is, perhaps, on the verge of tears. She would not care to remain this near to him if he were to cry; thusly, she hopes that it does not reach that point.

He does not offer to make himself useful, nor does he back away, so Elektra continues to decide what is worth taking. She intends to get new clothing as soon as possible; the standard of this commune appears to be as drab as it is functional and twice as formless.

Accordingly, she brings two sets of clothing for each of them, as well as her portable camera--a Kodak Brownie she bought mostly in order to say that she could--and the carton of cigarettes she keeps tucked away beneath the mattress.

With that, she is entirely prepared to leave. Mercifully, the doors within the main house never seem to be locked and so long as  _ Bullseye  _ can manage to behave himself, there should be no issue with leaving.

She stops with a hand on the door knob when she realizes that Bullseye is still standing by the bed as if he did not manage to comprehend any of the proceeding conversation.

“Bullseye,” she speaks slowly and carefully, it appears the best way to get through to him, “We are leaving now.”

“It’s the middle of the  _ night, _ ” he is often inclined to whine and now is not an exception, “ _ Why _ do we have to leave  _ now _ ?”

“It is early morning,” she says, though she does not have a watch to confirm, “And we are leaving now because this  _ mission  _ is a  _ secret. _ ”

Perhaps she should be saddened by the fact that he appears more often to be an eternal child than a man, but it is overshadowed by how much it galls her to use such juvenile tactics to coerce him into complying.

There is little satisfaction in how well it works. But it does allow her to open the door without so much as a sound and once she is past the threshold, she turns back to face Bullseye in order to impress upon him that it is of the utmost importance that they stay quiet, lest this “mission” ceases to be a secret.

However, he is not, in fact, behind her.

She does not want to set foot back into that wretched bedroom, as if merely passing the threshold has set an irrevocable chain of events into motion. She has never been one for superstition, but she supposes it must be contagious in these parts. Instead, she waits for him to carry out whatever odd compulsion must have struck him, as he is wont to do.

It is a surprise to see him return to the doorway cradling two blades ever so gently in his arms, as if he has learned how best to do it without getting cut.

“See I was ready to go an’ all and I  _ was  _ right behind you, I swear,” it appears that he is awake enough to slip into his incessant rambling and he has a disgusting tendency to completely forgo enunciating in any form, “But then I was thinkin’ that this could be  _ dangerous  _ ‘cos missions really aren’t all that fun and sometimes they’re awful scary, so I  _ had  _ to go back an’ grab ‘em ‘cos they’re  _ Matty’s.” _

Elektra needs him to remain compliant, so she restrains herself from turning on her heels and expecting him to follow. Instead, she waits to see if he has worn himself out with all his  _ blathering. _

“Matty doesn’t like it when  _ I  _ touch ‘em, but he’s never said nothin’ about you.”

He is holding out the blades, two beautiful and, more importantly,  _ exotic  _ pieces of work. They are a type of craftsmanship and style that are extremely out of place in a commune that reads as an attempted parody at a fae court. If she finds Matthew, she may just have to ask about the sais before she runs him through with them.

She has not admitted it before now, but this is as much about revenge as it is about leaving this infuriating place. She resolves herself to never mention as much aloud when she takes the swords from Bullseye.

* * *

Her Beetle has not moved from the location at which she parked it at the start of the Fall. It has been a challenge to keep track of how long it has been since she began her more  _ permanent  _ residence within the commune, but she knows that the entirety of the Fall and the majority of the Winter have passed.

She sets the twin swords down, allowing them to rest against the side of her vehicle, and then she turns to face Bullseye. She is already tall and it does not help that the man in front of her seems to be small in a way informed by self-consciousness. Thus, she is forced to lean down in order to look him directly in the eye.

For emphasis, she places her palms on each of his shoulders, and speaks softly, “Bullseye, do you know how the gates work?”

“Of course,” he smiles, crooked in a way that would have been cute a decade ago, “Lemme show you!”

“No, that is not necessary. I trust you; you can open them for us.”

He nods, an almost manic action, and heads off towards the gate mechanism.

With Bullseye distracted, it allows her time to work. Her spare key is still attached via magnet to the underside of her back left wheel well and she retrieves it with ease. Following that, she unlocks the driver side door and places her bag as well as the swords in the back seat.

It is still merely superstition getting the best of her, but she feels more comfortable with the idea of having easy access to their things. And, she must admit, the swords feel distinctly comfortable in her hands, as though they were made for her to wield them.

Afterwards, she takes a seat and puts the key in the ignition. The car starts and it works wonders for easing the knot of dread resting at the pit of her stomach. Bullseye returns soon after that and she leans across the front seat to unlock his door.

He sits next to her and shuts the door behind himself and whispers, almost reverently, “I’ve never rode up in the front before.”

Elektra does not deign the statement a response; she finds that Bullseye has not managed to open the gate entirely, but it is still sufficient to fit her vehicle through. Once she has passed the boundary of the commune, she stops the car.

“Stay here. Do not touch anything.”

She strides back to the gate and forces it closed with her bare hands. It is not locked, but it will look untouched from a distance and perhaps award them some extra time for a head start. Then, she gets back into the vehicle and starts the engine once again.

Bullseye has followed her command quite sufficiently; the keys are still in the ignition and he has not turned on the radio or passed the time by playing with the windows or the glovebox or the mirrors. He is, instead, almost uncharacteristically quiet.

The moon overhead provides enough light to offer a cold comfort, and the car continues to move as it is intended to. She does not remember how long the rough, gravel path up to the property is, nor does she remember what road it connects to. But she does find it far easier to breathe when she reaches asphalt yet again.

* * *

The sun is just beginning to rise when she realizes that in all likelihood, it will not be long before they need more gasoline. Additionally, she is unsure of where they are in any exact sense. The roads have all appeared to be identical and she has shied away from highways and interstates thus far, choosing instead to travel down the backroads. At the very least, she knows that they are still within the state of New York.

Bullseye is asleep; he sits in the passenger’s seat with his knees drawn up to his chest and his head resting against the window. The sight of him out of the corner of her eyes elicits a terrible wave of panic, threatening to drag her out into its metaphorical undertow.

It is enough to force her to pull over, as she does not believe she can drive in a state such as this. 

She barely manages the act of turning off the vehicle before completely losing her composure. It is an undignified state to be in; she rests her forehead against the steering wheel of the car and against her will, she finds her face contorted as though she is screaming, but there is not any noise escaping her aside from the incessant repetition of her quick, frantic breaths. She sounds like an animal, a creature panting and prepared to attack.

Bullseye, who is the  _ only  _ remaining son of the leader of the commune she has  _ just  _ fled from in the night like a prisoner, remains asleep off to her side.

She is crying, even though she has not cried in years. She did not deign it fit to cry at her father’s funeral, and yet she cannot stop now. It is a silent act and her tears end up tracking down her face, leaving droplets on the skirt of her dress, against her will.

She does not  _ like  _ the state she is in, but she can tolerate it. That is, up until she makes a disgustingly animalistic noise, one that sounds like she has been dealt with a fatal blow. Bullseye startles awake shortly afterwards; she does not see it happen but it is an easy enough conclusion to draw from the racket he makes, as if he kicked the dashboard in his panic.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Did something happen?” He sounds as small as he is scared, but he does not cross the line and touch her, for which she is grateful.

She attempts to move her mouth so as to speak, but she ends up doing something akin to gnashing her teeth.

“What happened, ‘Lektra? Are we safe?”

“Bullseye,” her voice is hoarse and stiff, as if she has not spoken before this moment, “Go back to sleep.”

She supposes he is watching her; he often stares and stares and stares, though she cannot bear to look at him in order to confirm. He remains quiet, although restless, and leaves her to choke down her sorrow in near perfect silence.


	2. bullseye

**_MARCH, 1969_ **

 

He hasn’t been sleeping all too good as of late, what with Matty being gone and everyone so on edge and scared and worried. But it all always comes crashin’ down eventually, and even though he’s been awake a loooooong time, Bullseye eventually passes out on the bed. 

And really, it’s not like he’s  _ alone _ . He’s got Elektra, and she sleeps in the same room an’ all, but it’s not the same. Not really. And well, she’s nice and all sometimes, but she’s not  _ Matty _ and he can’t really sleep with her like he used to with Matty, and so he’s forced to sleep on his own bed, by himself. 

So maybe that’s contributin’ to the sleeping problems. 

Regardless, he’s finally,  _ finally _ getting some good sleep, and then she goes and wakes him up.

He doesn’t realize it’s her at first, though, ‘cause he never does. 

“Matty? Y’didn’t have t’wake me up, you  _ know _ that.” 

Every morning he opens his eyes and hopes Matty will be there, sleeping stiff and spread out all wide on the bed, or else maybe he’ll be accompanied by Mr. Wesley into the house and Bullseye will hear it and he’ll wake up just in time to see him, or Matty’ll climb in through the balcony and Bullseye wouldn’t even get upset at him for being covered in blood this time, or, or--

“As I have told you  _ ceaselessly _ , Matthew is not here.” Elektra whispers to him, and her eyes are big and bright in the pre-dawn light. With her hair in her face and covering her cheekbones, she looks like the ghost of a woman, rather than a living, breathing thing, and it scares him just a mite. 

He rubs his hands over his eyes and tries not to look too close at her. 

Bullseye always  _ got _ why Matty liked Elektra, because she’s kinda mean and terrifying and intense and everytime she walks into a room, you  _ know _ she’s there even if you haven’t seen her yet. And Matty doted  _ allllll _ over her, all the time, even when she was being mean, but she’s mean in the way Matty’s mean, where a lot of it goes right over Bullseye’s head and he can ignore it for the sake of not cryin’ in front of her and everything.

“Come now, get up.” 

She steps away from him, and as he’s blinking owlishly and trying to rub the sleep from his eyes, dragging his fingers down his cheeks like that’ll help keep them open wider, Elektra goes towards her side of the room and starts packing stuff up.

He sits up and starts to stretch; if he’s gotta be up, he’s gotta work some of the kinks out of his joints, otherwise he’s not gonna be very flexible, and he  _ hates _ when he’s stiff all day. 

“What’re you doin’?” He asks around a yawn, because she’s not usually so eager to wake him up on account of he’s pretty she doesn’t like him all that much. Usually, Bullseye will find her in one of the common areas, or in the kitchen, but she’s usually quiet in the mornings, so this is all really peculiar already. 

And it’s not even light out yet.

Elektra pauses for a moment and looks back at him, and her eyes don’t look quite so scary now, but they’re still big and remind him of when he spooked a fox out in the woods once and the fox had stared at him with big, wild eyes that he couldn’t even begin to decipher. She returns to packing. 

“We are going to find Matthew, as he is  _ obviously _ not returning to us.” 

That gets him standing almost immediately, and he wobbles a little. Sometimes when he gets up his head gets all fuzzy-like and it takes a few moments for his head to level out enough to be able to see again. So he waits for that to pass and then he thinks about what she’s saying, and-- 

Oh. He kinda wondered when people would start lookin’ for Matty. He’s been gone so long, and they don’t think he’s coming back, and it  _ hurts _ to think about and it makes him shake sometimes, or get so angry that he’s gotta go out to the back gardens and cry a little and--

And he’ll be here all day if he thinks about that, so he yawns again and focuses on Elektra’s packing and asks, “Like a Mission?”

It’s been a while. He’s never been too good on ‘em, so they stopped sending him all too often. But that’s what makes sense, if Elektra’s packing and getting ready to leave, and she’s taking him, because maybe Matty will wanna come home if he gets to talk to Bullseye. Well, maybe. He doesn’t know how much Matty likes him, but he wants to hope seeing him would make him wanna come home and  _ behave _ again. 

Elektra smiles at him, a wide thing that looks jagged and makes him think of that fox again, with its long sharp teeth and muzzle. “Oh  _ yes _ , a  _ Mission _ from God.”

Bullseye almost shivers, and he wrings his hands around each other, over and over and over again.  _ He _ must have given her this Mission, and that makes it a real sacred thing, and well, it’s gotta be if it means they’re bringing Matty back. He’ll be  _ Home _ again and everything will fix itself and he’ll be able to sleep again and he won’t be so lonely anymore, and Matty will be  _ good _ , and sure, he’ll have to get punished for this, but he’ll be  _ Home _ and that’s all that matters. 

He doesn’t even feel himself walking barefoot across the floor to Elektra’s side, but suddenly he’s just there and he can smell the faint floral scent of old perfume on her hair, and he knows, knows, knows, just knows it in his Soul, that Matty’ll come back to them. He has to. 

“Where are we goin’? How long’s it gonna take?”

She spits, “I do not  _ know _ ,” and Bullseye almost takes a step back, but if they’re gonna be on a Mission together, he can’t just be all scared of her the entire time, because she’ll do that sneer she does when she thinks he’s being stupid and thinks he’s too dumb to realize she’s doing it. So he doesn’t, and stays close.

Her expression evens out, like a mask, and it reminds Bullseye of Matty and his Moods. She says, “I do not know,” again, and continues, “He could have gone any number of places.” 

Which… is true. They don’t know where he’s at, because he didn’t leave on a Mission, and he could be  _ anywhere _ . Anywhere in the entire world, and he doesn’t know where everything in the world is. He could even be in  _ Japan _ for all Bullseye knows, and he doesn’t even know how they’d manage to get there, and the thought of being so far away from Home makes him want to curl up and shiver. So he just says, “ _ Oh _ ,” and falls quiet.

It hurts. All of this hurts so much, and he’s glad that they are being sent to help, to bring him Home, but in his quiet moments, he’s not sure that things would be all the way fixed even if Matty  _ did _ come home. He  _ left _ them, and even  _ wanted _ to leave, and that’s-- It’s-- 

He realizes Elektra is by the door all at once, and doesn’t know how long he was in his head, but the fog of panic passes when she says sharply, “ _ Bullseye _ ,” and he shakes himself out of the reverie. “We are leaving now.” 

“It’s the middle of the  _ night _ ,” He says, and looks towards the balcony, to where the moon hangs in the sky and the stars are still visible and the early dew is just beginning to form droplets of moisture on the railings, making everything look wet and kind of foggy. He imagines it’s so very chilly, and he’s never left for a Mission in the middle of the night before. “Why do we have to leave  _ now _ ?” 

“It is early morning, and we are leaving now because this  _ Mission _ is a  _ secret _ .” 

Bullseye doesn’t really get why it’d be a secret; they’ve all been wondering where Matty’s been, and it’s not like it would surprise anyone to know that they’re finally gonna start  _ looking _ . But-- If she’s got her orders, then that means this is Right and Just and Proper, and it’ll do neither of them any good to argue and whine against that. 

_ Whining is for fools with no power _ , Matty told him once, and he’s remembered that, because, well, he sure does whine a lot, even if he doesn’t mean to and doesn’t always know he’s doing it until Elektra or Matty say something.

She starts walking to the door and he starts to follow her but-- 

No. Not yet. He takes a look around the room, comforted how well he’s covered all the walls in here, knowing he won’t see it for a while. It soothes his nerves, to look at all his paintings, and while it seems Elektra’s grabbed all his stuff for him, she’s forgotten to look for anything Matty left behind. 

And he knows what he’s left behind, because in the first few weeks of him being gone, Bullseye had looked and looked and looked for clues everywhere, especially in the bedroom, but the only thing he left behind were his sais, wrapped up and put away in one of the nights stands like he’d have to wake up in the middle of the night and fight off some of those ninja folk he used to talk about sometimes. 

He finds himself opening the drawer and pulling them out, being awful careful not to nick himself on the blades. They’re sharp, and their legacy is shrouded in blood thick and oozing down the hilts, and as he holds them, he can see why Matty feels safe when he has these blades in his hands. Bullseye feels safe having all matter of stuff in his pockets, and even if it ain’t as sophisticated as Matty’s choice of weapons, he gets the feeling all the same. 

Maybe he left them behind on purpose. Maybe this  _ was _ the clue.  _ Find me, Bullseye, and bring me back what I left behind _ .

It feels him with something like purpose, and he carries them to the doorway, only to be met with Elektra’s wild, furious eyes again, and he really hopes the sun comes up soon, because she still looks like a ghostly effigy of the woman he knows. 

“See, I was ready to go an’ all and I  _ was _ right behind you, I swear. But then I was thinkin’ that this could be  _ dangerous _ ‘cos Missions really aren’t all that fun and sometimes they’re awful scary, so I  _ had _ to go back an’ grab ‘em ‘cos they’re  _ Matty’s _ .  Matty doesn’t like it when  _ I _ touch ‘em, but he’s never said nothin’ about you.” And he holds them out to her, hoping the sight of the blades will make her expression even out, will make the harsh lighting of the pre-dawn light make her less angry.

She takes them, and Bullseye grins at her. They look good cradled in her arm, and he doesn’t even have to tell her how to be careful with them without nicking herself. It’ll almost be a shame to give them to Matty, because if Elektra’s doing Missions now, they’d serve her well. 

Elektra turns and Bullseye follows her out of the House.

* * *

 

Bullseye’s always liked Elektra’s car. He was kinda sad when she moved in for good, ‘cause it meant she didn’t really need it anymore, and so it just collects dust. Which is really an honest shame because it’s small and yellow and she calls it a ‘Bug’ and Bullseye thinks that’s really rather cute. He always thought it was real funny watching Matty try to squeeze his tall frame into the little cabin of the car; he always looks so tall and elegant that seeing those long legs look more awkward than anything always made him laugh. 

And considering Elektra always had a little smile on her face when he’d climb in, Bullseye thinks maybe she thought it was funny, too.

Elektra leans over him and has a real severe look on her face, though. No smiles for Missions, he supposes. She puts her hands on his shoulders, her hands firm, and she speaks the way she does when she goes to the parties, all soft and sweet-like. “Bullseye, do you know how the gates work?”

And see, that’s something he can do, so he says, “Of course! Lemme show you!” Even if she doesn’t wanna smile on a Mission, it don’t mean Bullseye can’t, so he gives her one of those grins that he  _ knows _ makes her frown.

“No, that is not necessary. I trust you; you can open them for us.” 

He sets off to do as she says, nodding rapidly to show that he understands, he gets it, they’ve gotta work. He never had to do much on the other Missions. Frankly, and he doesn’t wanna question his Path or nothin’, but frankly, he wasn’t sure what use he ever was. It wasn’t like he did the things that Matty did, couldn’t, wasn’t allowed, didn’t  _ need _ to. 

If Matty was assigned a Mission, he’d always get it done alone. 

So really, it always boggled his mind that he had to come along, and he’d just get scared anyhow, and Matty would sometimes get scary and he’d get even more scared. 

It’s nice to actually have a use, so he does his best to open the gate, working the lock and the mechanism. It’s hard work, and it’s heavy, so he gets it open enough for the car and not much else, because it would just be a waste of energy, and like he said, he hasn’t been sleeping too good lately, so he’s not always the strongest.

Elektra unlocks the front door for him, and his eyes go wide, because all their stuff is in the backseat, which means he gets to sit in the  _ front _ seat, and he all but scrambles in place and closes the door behind him fast so he’s locked in, she can’t change her mind, and he says quietly, “I’ve never rode up in the  _ front _ before.” He runs a hand over the dashboard. 

She makes him stay in the car while she closes the gate behind them, and Bullseye busies himself in feeling how the car moves. He doesn’t get to ride in them all too often, and he always liked Elektra’s quite a lot, and now he’ll get to be in it for a long time because they’re finding  _ Matty _ and he might see  _ Matty  _ soon.

He almost jumps when Elektra gets back in the car, the gate closed but unlocked behind them-- and for a second, he wonders why there weren’t any escorts and why Mr. Wesley didn’t help them, but it hurts his head a little to question his Path, so he drops the line of thinking and rubs small circles in the upholstery of the seat and pulls his feet up to his chest so he can get all comfy. 

Elektra says nothing, and her knuckles are awful stiff and white on the steering wheel as she pulls away and they start down the road to leave the property. Bullseye gets a jitter in his body like he always does when he leaves, a tangled up knot of apprehension and excitement and fear and some stuff he doesn’t have the name for but it’s not good, and he’s wide eyed as he looks ahead of them.

The moon has faded somewhat as the dark, oppressive night sky slowly gives way to a golden pink that trickles in through the ghostly branches of the winter-bare trees. It doesn’t look like much to Bullseye.

* * *

 

Elektra makes a terrible, awful noise. The kind that Matty makes in his sleep sometimes, or when he’s real, real mad, the kind that Bullseye imagines comes from some in-between place that’s not quite human and not quite animal, but something wholly demonic. 

It wakes him up; the smooth rocking motions of the car put him to sleep fast, and she didn’t want him touching the radio or messing with the contents of the car, so he got bored after twenty minutes and closed his eyes as the horizon passed them by. 

She’s  _ crying _ . 

He cries an awful lot, but Matty and Elektra  _ don’t _ . It’s why he thinks they were good for each other. Not a lot of emotions. But the way Elektra looks, tear tracks down her face and the skin around her eyes puffy and thick and swollen, and the way her lips tremble in an effort to stay calm-- it’s not just a cry. This is a sob, something that comes from deep, deep, deep within. Maybe she does have emotions.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Did something happen?” He doesn’t know what could cause this, what this could mean, what  _ happened _ to make her like this. 

He suspects it’s something about the Mission and Matty, but her lips are moving and no sounds are coming out, and she looks  _ furious _ so he doesn’t say Matty’s name, because sometimes Elektra doesn’t like it when he brings him up. 

“What happened, ‘Lektra? Are we safe?” ‘Cause maybe it was a car accident or something. The car is stopped, they’re pulled over on the side of the road, and there’s no one in sight, but he was  _ asleep  _ and he just doesn’t  _ know _ . He smooths his hand over a small piece of quartz that he found on the dashboard, ‘cause turns out Elektra had a few trinkets up there, all perfectly arranged to evoke… Something. 

Matty once told him that Elektra is very particular about her stuff, but if they’re in trouble, Bullseye knows he needs something in his hands and they can probably get out of it. It’s his Path. 

Elektra struggles to word things for a while, and she sits up off the steering wheel, and looks straight ahead. Her eyes don’t look like ghosts anymore; they look like a corpse’s. His jaw tightens at the edge of a memory that wants to choke him, and he pushes it down like nausea. 

“Bullseye, go back to sleep.” Her voice is rough and scraggly and it leaks out of her like a death rattle.

He looks at her for a long, long moment, and then nods, pulling his legs back up to his chest, and looking straight out the windshield. He won’t sleep for a while, but he’ll stay quiet for her, and he won’t even look at her, to afford her some privacy. 

“‘Kay,” he mumbles, and runs his fingers over and over and over the point of the quartz.

**Author's Note:**

> yes, we're on tumblr. catch it-- [carrionkid](https://bullseyemutual.tumblr.com) and [ravenously](https://sekwoja.tumblr.com). 
> 
> enjoy.


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